Sunlight, Blood and Afterdinner Mints
by Love Psychedelico
Summary: Sirius's scribbled recollections and letters to Remus during his time in Azkaban. Slash oneshot.


**Title**: Sunlight, Blood and After-dinner Mints

**Series**: Harry Potter

**Pairing**: Sirius/Remus

**Genre**: Angst, Romance

**Warnings**: Self-inflicted wounds (ie wrist cutting), suggestions of jail!rape, angst, angst and more crackled angst.

**Summary**: Sirius's scribbled recollections and letters to Remus during his time in Azkaban.

**Comments**: Yes, I'm back, although I did write this one-shot almost half a year ago. I was just guilty for not posting something so I decided to pull out something I did ages ago (I'm writing the others, I am! I swear!). Hope you enjoy it! Please spare me corrections on wrong details. It's YEARS since I've read POA and I couldn't care less about small details. Sue me.

* * *

#1

What the hell am I supposed to do with paper. Eat it? Yeah, it's pretty damn tempting since all we get is some kind of porridge/sludge that looks like a dungbomb aftermath. Or maybe it's so I can send in complaints about the food in prison.

Oh yeah. The serial murderer sending in complaints about food in Azkaban. Funny.

#3

I like this new cell. At least I don't have to put up with the stench of inmates. I only have to put up with mine. God, how I wish I had my _eau de cologne_. I loved the scent - mint, mint with a little spice and citrus. Best birthday present. Lily has such good taste - Remus, he gave me a basketfull of sweets, I think, that indian-giver . . . James, you knew just what I wanted, a bike polisher and Peter - you're pathetic, a handknit scarf?

. . . ._God_, I want to go back home.

#6

Apparently these slips of paper are for confessing or monitoring sanity or whatever. Have I anything to confess? No, because, as I said in my trial and as I say now, I DIDN'T DO IT. And did they listen? No. So will they listen now? No. The fucking ministry's not even going to _consider _the possibility that I'm innocent, because me being caught shuts the press people up.

Hurray, I'm put away with all the blame whilst the _real_ culprit runs loose. The world really is fucked.

#12

I wonder where my motorbike is. I hope Remus is looking after it. On second thought, he hates the thing so probably not. My shiny baby, it'll rust, dammit.

#18

My chin is prickly. Do they not let prisoners shave or bathe? I suppose not. We're not treated like humans. Animals needn't bathe, right?

#50

Rainy. This cell has a tiny window on the top right corner of the wall to let air in. You hated rain, didn't you, James? Said it makes your hair all curly. I said you were such a girl. You made me grow donkey ears. I laughed as you were dragged off by McGoogly.

I know what you mean now. It makes my hair go all curly.

#54

The rain's gone, after whatever many days passed because I just couldn't give a flying hurdle. I have no idea what the time is but it's dark and foggy and the moon's out. Half moon, a little fat. Remus used to get paranoid with the moon around this time and onwards.

I wonder what you're doing now, Remus.

Are you looking at the same moon? No, you wouldn't be. You used to avoid seeing it as much as you can.

I wonder what you're doing. Do you ever wonder what I'm doing?

#80

It's freezing. It's fucking freezing and it's daytime. Stupid Dementors. Stupid Ministry. They decided to send Dementors to guard my cell.

I have one blanket. One pathetic wretched blanket. And the air - it's cold enough to frostbite my fingers.

I never thought it was possible to feel more miserable than I was before, but I proved myself wrong. Those _things_, they suck away every particle of your vigour.

#124

Happy birthday to me. It's sunny outside and foggy inside. I can hear the sea. I can smell the grass outside and yet I can't touch it. I've forgotten what it feels like, the grass. The sea, what it looked like. I can't even feel my hands.

#187

I try and remember happy things.

All that comes to mind is Hogwarts.

Marauders.

It was the best time in my life. Even the detentions were.

James chasing after Lily Evans - that was a laugh. Took him three whole years to get her. Took _me_ less than two hours to get _any_ girl I fancied.

The first one was Amelia Johnson. Ravenclaw. Older. She had long black hair and a bad taste in music. She liked being kissed, a lot. In front of people, most of the time. And then I found out she was only dating me to look good.

The second one was Layla - can't remember her last name, it was long. Younger Hufflepuff. Wavy brown fluffy hair, pale face. Smelled like flowers. Kind of bony and too thin, but liked snuggling. Fell sick and went to Mungo's.

Then there was Mishia Herrington. Wild girl with piercing blue eyes. Griffindor. Used to play the guitar to me. Liked messing up my hair. Quit school half way to do music professionally. Haven't heard since.

Then there were a few more, but those were just for comfort. Just - I don't know. I was stupid, I guess I wanted to look like I had someone.

And then there was Remus. It was so surreal, so insane, madness it was, the whole thing. Every breaktime, every minute we found to ourselves - every dark corner we found, we hid in and we kissed. It was addictive - the wrongness of it all, the guilt, the secret, the pleasure, the scandulousness - it was like trespassing on forbidden grounds. It was deucedly addictive. We had no idea what we were doing but did it anyway. We had no idea where it was going but wanted it anyway.

He tasted like toothpaste. Toothpaste on his teeth, and chocolate on his tongue. A little like afterdinner mints, I guess. With something else - that something, that addictive taste that was no-one else's but Remus's. That something I thirsted for with all I was. That something that never quite remained in my mouth, that something that made me want more of him, that something that made me think about him all day, through lessons and breaktime and heaven allow me, all night long.

God, I _smiled_. That must have been the first time I've smiled, here.

#213

Dear Remus,

I miss you, I miss you I miss you and God, I miss you. And I'm sorry.

It's probably been half a year. A year maybe? I've lost track of time.

When I left your apartment you were angry. I was angry too, that you were angry, and I don't quite know what happened afterwards. I got on the motorbike and the next thing I know I'm standing in the middle of a mangled mess and Aurors come and arrest me. It's insane, isn't it? I didn't do it. I didn't, I swear. I couldn't - I wouldn't, you _know_ I wouldn't kill - kill all those poor - God, what the hell really happened, I don't know, but it wasn't me.

And I still haven't apologised.

You were glaring angrily out the window when I drove off, and I still haven't apologised. I can't even remember what we fought about now, but it doesn't matter. I was probably being stupid, because you're never wrong, _never_. I'm sorry.

I'm also sorry about that time in seventh year. When there were rumours about us. Do you remember? I kissed a girl in the middle of the main hall just to feed the rumour-mill with something else. People seemed satisfied with that. I was so happy about how intelligent I was at camouflaging our relationship, but you - you glared at me with teary eyes and locked yourself in a toilet cubicle all day. You told me you didn't want me to do that. That you weren't angry because I kissed her, but angry because I was ashamed about us, that I tried to hide from the public, that I wanted to cover it up, and that I used a poor girl's feelings in the process. And I'd shrugged it away and you'd forgiven me within a week, like you always did, and we never brought it up again but now - I'm really sorry I made you go through it.

I know, this is so pointless, I'm only scribbling on a piece of paper which gets taken away and probably read by randoms then shredded. It's never going to get to you, is it?

I'm never going to be able to say sorry, am I?

#298

I found a grey hair today, Remus. I'm only 23. I hate black hair. It stands out if I have grey hairs. But you - you've had grey hairs since seventh year, haven't you? And hardly anyone notices, because you're a dark blonde, and grey kind of just naturally blends in to make your hair that tiny bit lighter.

But I know _you_ used to count your grey hairs.

And I noticed how there were more and more every month after your 'nights out' and I used to worry you'd be an old man by the time we finished school.

Maybe, secretly, we're more obsessed about our hair than James was with _his_. That's definitely saying something.

#340

They're shifting cells. I'm going to get moved into some kind of share-cell. No writing to you for a while, I guess.

#342

It's 2:00 AM and I'm crying. Well, I'm pretty sure it's 2:00 AM because the second bell after the double bell just rang. I cry, Remus, this time. Every night. Because I know for sure no one else is awake to hear my sobs.

You know, these chains, these stupid bulky chains - they're like what Filch used to tie us upside down with. Remember - remember the time when we were caught sneaking off to Hogsmeade? And James and Peter got away with it. It was so unfair. James used me as a stool, and just as he got through the passage, Filch came. And you came back through the passage for me, to get into trouble together. You're such a pathetic softie.

I try to think happy thoughts like that. I try to think about you - because anything with you, every single memory with you is nothing short of pure bliss.

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

But I still cry, anyway.

I sometimes wonder why you're not here with me, like that time.

I want my cell back. I'd much rather be with Dementors than with murderers. The hardest was the first night. They're _monsters_, Remus. Apparently they thought I was rather cute. I want to curl up into a ball and scream.

Will they leave me alone if I pretend I'm insane? Will it hurt less if I do?

#347

I hurt, heavens I _hurt_.

#351

I have my cell back. I also have my voice back. I couldn't speak till yesterday. Screaming too much wrecked my throat. It's not like I need my voice, though. I never talk to anyone.

I've been vomiting all day. Yeah, nice to know, isn't it?

The windows are now barred.

#398

I wonder, some times, why I'm still sane. I want to scream and rip my blankets up and bang my head on the wall till I kill off enough braincells that I wouldn't hurt inside any more.

Physical pain is so much nicer compared to mental pain. If I hurt physically, I don't have to think. Thinking hurts more. Thinking about you hurts most.

#427

I cut myself today. Not deep enough to kill me but I seriously considered doing so. It hurt a lot. I don't think nails are meant for cutting skin. It took ages just to punch a hole and rip it across. I leaned against the wall and watched it bleed. It kind of reminded me how I'm actually still alive.

But _why_ am I?

#428

God help me, it's getting into a habit. I _want_ to see if I'm alive. I _need_ to see the blood flow. I _want_ to _hurt_.

#447

I have scars on my wrist, like you had scars all over your body. Funny, it reminds me of you. Funny, it hurts less now.

#582

The sky's dark. It must be night. The stars are out. It reminds me of the night we snuck out of bed and we rode my broomstick, because you hated heights. And you were so warm, snuggled against my back, your arms tight around my waist and your nose in my shoulder. We flew out over the forest and the lake and lay on the roof of the castle. We watched stars. You told me which one was Sirius. It was kind of small and pathetic and dull, but you said it was your favourite.

I can't find it tonight. My eyes have gone all blurry.

#634

You always used to say "chocolate makes everything better." You'd binge on bars after bars of dark chocolate sometimes, after a full moon. Then you'd flop onto the bed and go to sleep. You'd sleep right through the day and when you woke up you gave me a weak smile and a feeble apology about not making dinner and being so pathetic. I just smiled and nodded and threw you another bar of chocolate. And everything did get better.

I want a bar of chocolate, Remus.

#689

I have a beard. I wonder if I grow enough of it I can strangle myself somehow.

#723

They should've killed me. The sentence should have been capital punishment, not life imprisonment.

I want to die.

I wouldn't hurt as much if I die.

Would I hurt less if I go insane?

#984

The sun came through the window today. It's a rare thing. I guess in winter the sun's in the right angle for some rays to reach the cell floor.

There was a puddle of sunlight in the corner of the room. I sat in it all day. I moved with it as the day waned and I cried shamelessly and loudly when the sun went down.

No more warmth.

#1028

How many years has it been? It feels like ten, twenty. I feel so old. I feel so tired out. Stretched out. I haven't cried. I want to cry. I think I'll feel better if I cry. I feel clogged up with tears but I can't get it out. It's unfair. It's unfair. I don't deserve this, Remus - I don't - what did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve _this_?

How many more years till it all ends?

#1383

It's a full moon. I can almost feel your pain. I can almost hear your screams.

Have you found someone else to spend it with?

Or do you suffer it alone?

#1562

I want sunlight.

I want coffee. Coffee like the ones you used to make me in the mornings - a little dark chocolate in it, you said it wakes you up.

I want to wake up in a warm bed. Not on the cold concrete curled in a thin blanket. I want to wake up with a warm body next to mine, our breathing the only sound staining the silence.

I want everything I used to take for granted and I have never missed more.

I want _you_.

I want to see you. With my eyes. These eyes that only stare into space and search for _you_ in my mind. In my memories.

I want to kiss you. To taste that toothpaste mint, that sweet chocolate, and _you_. I don't even remember what mint or chocolate tastes like. But I _do_ remember your taste and I want it, want it so badly.

I want to feel you, to touch you - to run my hands over your scars, to share your pain, to be with you when you hurt.

I want to apologise, I want to talk, to make up with you. I want to make love to you - on the floor, in our bed, on the couch, in the car, against the wall, _anywhere_ you like. I want to feel the warmth of another person - something I've languished so long for.

But I can't.

Because _you're_ not here.

Because there's nothing here but concrete, fog and chill. There's no one here but me, and I've been alone so long I've forgotten what it's like to hold another.

If I let it all go, will I not 'want' any more?

If I let my mind come undone, will I stop hurting?

No. I _want_. And that's what keeps me sane. It's not the knowledge that I'm innocent. It's not the knowledge that there's some good in the world. None of that crap.

What I _want_, is what keeps me hanging on.

Wanting _you_, is what keeps me _sane_.


End file.
